Heaven(s), let me relish the magic, but not the dumbfounded enchantment which I claimed to understand when I first cooed through dirty diapers and explicable sleepless nights, rather something we can actually use this time. I could be dying here.
Oh My God, see that our wretched weeping, which we have done o’ long the morning, not be in vain. Of course, the way the new jeans bunch up is all wrong. We all realize that. But it’s not the point.
Sweet Jehovah, must I follow back her friend on Snapchat? Furthermore, would the images within be renounced as biblical abominations? What, pray tell, was your bestowed creed back in the day when fathers married them off at age eleven? Would you say that, since then, you’ve done some of your own course correction?
Precious Buddha, in order that I may see the divinity of all things more clearly will you deliver from my mind the song “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift. Banish both the lyrics and the melody that, during my own private late-night repeated listening session, left me choked up because, goddamnit, if we won’t rise above whatever heartbreak the bastards throw at us. I can see the end as it begins, your worshipfulness.
Great Allah, enlighten me as to whether I too am experiencing a hormonal upheaval and, if so, how this might even be possible and thence treated with medication available at any local convenience store, or the corners of the parking lot that the floodlights do not touch.
O Unslaked Bill Maher, is it true that everything sucks? It probably is, but I didn’t think we were supposed to know that yet.
Dear Lord Ganesha, be my guide through this parent-teacher conference as I envision bludgeoning the head of my daughter’s math teacher who has mocked her aptitude with regards to his abstract subject. Help by making your presence known and, through your gloriousness, smite him into dust. Failing that, perhaps you could impale him on one of your mighty tusks?
Eternal Zoroaster, giveth unto me a sign that I looked decent in my new aqua socks. If I’m not mistaken they signal that I don’t mess around. Many pool Moms noticed.
Blessed Earth Goddesses, anoint me with the succor that my lecture on the value of authority figures made sense. My statement on how sarcasm was probably invented in the 90s was cogent too, I felt. Forgive me. I am weak.
Hallowed Sovereign Apple Headquarters, yea, though we bow our heads in devotion to thee still, let us together avert our eyes from the horizon rife with widespread doubt, impermanence and the darkening of our various clouds.
Jesus Christ, somehow I’ve been tasked with the purchase of her new underwear at the department store and I’ve yet to star in an ensemble comedy to make the whole thing adorable.
Almighty Beyoncé, please confirm that these other parents don’t know what the hell they’re doing and are headed for a sorely overdue comeuppance. Please allow me to ignore that they too, have offered up to you this very same prayer regarding our own household but that we, unlike them, will be able to go forth despite the cognitive dissonance therein. In your exalted name, may we slay?
Masterful Confucius, if I can find a golden middle between encouraging and controlling could you, in your wisdom, return us to a time when the word ‘chill’ was reassuring?
Merciful Mother-in-Law, upon the 37th retelling of the time you handled that same situation much better than we have, I became enlightened as to why universal harmony remains a fantastic illusion, in this world or the next.
Everlasting Beelzebub, please help me to avoid commenting aloud during this accidental viewing of The Exorcist that the film is ‘hilarious’ or ‘those parents had it easy’ all the while taking careful notes and concluding in the end that we can all benefit from professional help in these situations.
Beloved Daenerys Targaryen, of the House of Targaryen the First of Her Name, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Dany, The Unburnt as portrayed by Emmy-nominated Emilia Clarke, we ask for your absolution for our lack of ritual and piety. We simply aren’t that religious.
Divine and Steadfast Family Dog, forgive me for the raising of the collective volume this evening. As a gesture of penitence, I offer to you a portion of this overcooked gluten-free pizza that we may share and be glad in together. You will take a crispy bite first, then I, and back again during this moment of silent kitchen reflection.
Supreme Rising Oceans, the irony is not lost on me that I will one day look back on these days with gut-wrenching nostalgia. With grace, hold fast then, a little while longer. Though it’s understandable, in the meantime, if you need to swallow a few luxury cruise ships.
Oh Hera, Queen of the Gods, let us not forget that conviction can be found in the miracle of belief itself. We can go about our days with a fervent wonder at the myths conceived in our own hearts and minds. However, would it also be possible to stick around in case you’re needed to turn someone into a bird or perhaps an echo (or whatever suits this time) that could prove a crucial intervention during the college search and/or learner’s permit phase?
Angel of Mercy, Patron Saint of Flux, Redeemer of the Open Road, I’ll take her uttering of the word ‘peace’ at the short but moving funeral service this afternoon as both a larger win and a last amen. The ladybug we found truly has gone to a better place.